Something Like a Dream
by Moon's Smile
Summary: Forget the rules; they're worth nothing.


**Um...hi. This is my first attempt at something M-rated. Yeah...Go easy on me please. **

**Disclaimer: You all know, the usual. I own nothing.**

**Some sexual content below. Be warned. Enjoy!**

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_Something Like a Dream_

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She's something of a stoic woman, that Ayuzawa Misaki.

She's all seriousness and ruling, with an iron fist to ensure her employees give their all to their job. She's feisty, loud, stubborn, and sort of like a demon in her subordinates' eyes. She's always scowling, eyebrows furrowed thinly, lips either bow or quirked downwards. She never smiles.

For some reason, she strikes Takumi as a woman who probably cries herself to sleep every night.

She's all about rules, about order, about everything done right and if not right, not done at all. She's rather cruel, walking around with those button-downs that cling to her figure and those short skirts that show off subtle yet loud curves. He's decided that she's beautiful, eyes a delicious lemony amber and so perfect. She's perfect.

And the fact that he _likes_ her yelling at him makes him wonder.

Sometimes, he purposely makes errors on his assignments, just to get her fuming at him. He's sort of a masochist, and he assumes she's a sadist. They make a perfect team.

He doesn't understand how people don't recognize how beautiful she really is.

And so, when she looms over him, shadow like a demonic witch, stack of papers in hand, he can't help the smirk that adorns his face.

"Usui Takumi," she states, seething but constricting. He swivels around on his chair, jolly, fingers threading behind his head.

"Yes, Boss?" he almost sings, and he sees the delicate curve of her jaw tighten with her clenching teeth. There's almost a vein popping in her forehead.

She seems to be holding the anger back, but then the thread snaps. "You did _every one_ of these papers _wrong_!"

A slow, throaty chuckle envelopes his throat; she stops to almost gape, eyes widened and fingernails digging into her skin. He looks up at her, emeralds sparkling in idle thought.

"You know, you're beautiful when you yell."

Frozen, and then deathly silence reigns. He lets his statement sink in the air between them.

She proceeds to whack him with the very large stack of papers, huffing and stomping off with a blush staining the pale of her cheekbones. He then smiles cheekily, mischievously.

He's not one to play by the rules, after all.

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It's another day and he's noticed Ayuzawa Misaki is wary of him.

She eyes him as he passes by, stiff, wry, and he shoots a dazzling smirk her way. The women around him swoon but Ayuzawa Misaki isn't fazed. She almost looks as if she's about to stick her tongue at him childishly, and he fights to suppress a chortle.

Later in the day she comes by to collect an important document from him.

Their hands make contact; she takes the file from him, raising an elegant eyebrow at his far-too sheepish grin. He keeps his eyes stray as she opens the file to inspect it.

And then, she smacks him with the folder. Hard.

She fumes, steam shooting from her ears and face flushed with red. She, again, stomps away, and he bellows in laughter, clutching his stomach.

Writing _"Will you go on a date with me?"_ on the underside of the manila folder maybe wasn't such a good idea.

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She thinks he's toying with her.

All the little, snarky remarks, the small notes, the empty times when he corners her against the wall, hands on either side of her head; she thinks he's playing with her, leading her on, and he almost laughs with the irony.

And so, he pushes her on the desk, hovering over her, uncaring of the other works out there, and assures her that no, he's _not_ toying with her. No, he's _not_ leading her on. No, that the men before her were stupid, and the men now are idiots for not noticing her.

He presses his forehead to hers gently, her breaths ragged, lemon eyes brimming with tears.

"You're beautiful, Ayuzawa Misaki."

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He thinks rules are stupid. And he hates this little line they've drawn for themselves, separating bosses and employees.

He has her against the wall once again, hands pinned over her head, kisses fluttering on her face and neck. She shudders, shuffles, and squirms.

"I'm the boss; you're the worker. What will they think of us?"

He stops his kissing, looks at her sharply, glowing, wanting, needing. He steps over the line, dances on it, erases it with his shoes.

His voice sounds like a shiver in the dark, dark office, eyes glimmering in a shadow.

"Rules are stupid."

And that's that.

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He's not exactly happy with their arrangement.

He flirted with her, made her realize that she _was_ and _is_ gorgeous, beautiful, his goddess, no matter what other people said. He made her come out of her shell, see the world, stop the tears.

He thinks this is something akin to love, but it's far from what he wants.

He wants to make sure that she knows he loves her and will always love her. Their romance isn't exactly a normal one. He wants it scripted into the edges of her brain permanently, wants her to feel it in her heart and soul forever and ever.

He does not want to be an escape from her hell of a life.

He doesn't know how it ended up like this.

They are sprawled out on her bed, tangled with each other and the sheets, eyes hazed, hands everywhere, lips everywhere, in sweat and heat.

He feels guilty, maybe, but he's expressing his love, while maybe she is escaping the tears, replacing the permanent sadness etched onto her heart with temporary bliss. But he wants to replace that sadness with love, love for him. He wants to heal her.

She comes undone before him, falls apart, all rules forgotten and stoic exterior wilting away. She's like a wilting rose, petals drying and falling, sunlight and water away from her reach. He suckles on her neck, breasts, stomach, lips teasing the apex of the thighs, and she writhes. She touches him everywhere, hands feeling broken and shaking. She's moaning in pleasure, screaming maybe, legs wrapped around him and hips rocking. He pushes in and out of her, the world around them melting, all of this like a dazed dream. He thinks her sleep is poisoned by dreams, nights wasted with tears.

It's something like a shattering feeling in his abdomen, this whole night, these consecutive nights together. It's been going on for some time now. He feels a falling feeling when he continues pounding into her, perhaps in anger, maybe in guilt, but she's pulling on his hair and shouting out into the cold air. And when they finally reach climax, he collapses on her and within himself.

It's not his ideal romance; but maybe she loves him as well, discreetly, silently, sweetly, despite this going against the rules she so strongly follows.

If she can be healed like this, he has no reason to complain. He can pick up the scattered pieces.

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He wanted her to fall for him.

And she has.

She's still stoic, still demanding and demonic in the employees' eyes. But she's his angel, fluttering around gracefully, stealing his heart and tucking it away.

He didn't like their little arrangement before. The sex was an escape for her, from a life so hectic and cruel. But now it's meaningful, full of love. She's healing before him, kissing him, touching him, bodies shaking as their skin melds together again. He kisses her sweetly, parts her thighs with fingers and strokes her, feeling her, as if asking permission to love her. He pushes one finger in and out and pours the love he has for her with his sweet words and mind-numbing kisses.

He caresses her, lips dancing on her breasts and stomach and where her thighs meet, tasting her, skin laced with sweat and moans disappearing into the air. Their bodies become one, hips rocking, and that broken feeling is finally gone.

Love goes above all rules.

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He has fallen hard for her, so hard.

And when he sees her falling apart before him, shivering in tears, he breaks a little inside as well.

That loud, stoic exterior is gone, a mask perfected by so many years of use faded. Her smiling face is gone, angry screams gone, replaced by something he never wanted to see even in his nightmares.

He wraps his arms around her; she feels small, frail, and he protects her from the world, shuts her out from everything until it's just her and him. He places a slow, small kiss on her forehead, eyes smiling, and whispers _"It'll be okay,"_ over and over again in her ears.

Through the tears she smiles and tells him, albeit rather difficultly (she's so shy and in denial), the three words he has longed to hear ever since he first saw her.

The reckless smile that alights his face for the rest of the week seems like it's scrawled there with a permanent marker. It won't be erased so easily.

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And they find themselves hand-in-hand, strolling in the park, clear yet cool weather chilling their skin and flowing through their hair. He keeps cracking jokes, saying the perverted things because he's a "perverted outer-space alien", after all.

She hits him on the head when he makes a particularly tasteless remark on how good she looks with those tight jeans. He smiles; she smiles, brighter than the sun, and he realizes that he doesn't want this any other way.

She's healed, he's proud to say, the pieces glued back together carefully. He'll never let them break apart again. She's his goddess, almost his reason for living, and he will die if she ever shatters again.

Love is beautiful. Love is going against the rules to be happy.

Suddenly, her mouth takes a sullen expression, eyes dim. "I wonder what the workers will say about this…" _This_ meaning them, their strange romance, their happiness and smiles. He almost wants to chuckle, but instead wraps his arms around her, chin tucked in her hair and eyes dazzling.

"Forget the rules; they're worthless."

She holds him tighter and smiles.

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**Idk, this thing is weird ****in my eyes. Completely random. Maybe pointless. I hope you enjoyed, though. **

**To my _Mistakes_ readers: Next chapter will be out sometime this week. Look forward to it!**

**Did you like it? Hate it? Was it confusing? Were they OOC? Tell me your thoughts in a review. ;)**


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